


All for Denmark

by silkstocking



Category: Handball RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: 2016 Summer Olympics, Celebratory Sex, Comeplay, Gangbang, M/M, Team Denmark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:31:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/pseuds/silkstocking
Summary: Team Denmark celebrates Mikkel Hansen.





	All for Denmark

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this approximately 0.02 seconds after I finished watching the final in Rio and it's taken me a year to discover it again, finish it and post it. There is a mini primer in the endnotes, just in case you happen to be unfamiliar with the ins and outs of Danish men's handball. The title is taken from the official Team DK hashtag for the Rio games.
> 
> Obviously I make no claim that any of this actually happened.

Everything after Mensah’s final goal seems to pass in a dream state, syrup-slow and whirlwind-fast all at once. Mikkel knows the final whistle, clinging to Morten in sheer relief while Morten mumbles half-understood praise into the skin of Mikkel’s neck. He knows the elation of the dressing room, Søndergaard bellowing _Who was it that won today?_ and Guðmundur’s accented Danish rising clear above the others in answer. He knows the pride of the podium where so many voices join theirs to chorus the national song, and he knows the brief, bittersweet hugs he shares with his teammates from PSG.

“ _Félicitations_ ,” TiTi murmurs as the French players move along the line, and Mikkel can only clasp him on the shoulder. There’ll be time enough later for that.

There are photographs and interviews and singing and laughter. The gold medal is a solid weight around Mikkel’s neck, a pressure on his chest that reminds him every time it bounces that they won. _They won_. His face aches from smiling and his throat aches from yelling and he’ll feel the strains of the tournament in his limbs and back tomorrow, but for now, that knowledge is everything.

The team drifts out of the arena and back to the village in a cloud of delighted noise. Niklas throws his arm around Mikkel’s shoulder as they walk and refuses to let go. Mikkel can’t begrudge him that; he’s desperate to touch every guy on the team himself, to feel their hands on him in return and know that they are all together, all gold medallists, all Team Denmark. Henrik catches his eye, raising an eyebrow, and Mikkel grins at him. Henrik has seen enough in Paris to know what Mikkel wants.

“Come on, boys,” Henrik says. “Party in MC Hammer’s room. He’s got the good beer.”

As they make their way upstairs, other athletes keep stopping them to give congratulations, the few still around this close to the closing ceremony. Sara Slott and Pernille Blume both kiss Mikkel on the cheek and he grins at them, brimming over with good will and national pride. When they finally make it to the room, the team settles onto both beds and onto the floor and spill out into the suite, laughing and ribbing each other and toasting with the beers that Henrik wasn’t lying about Mikkel getting through security.

“Here,” Henrik says, laughter in his voice, and tosses a handful of Rio 2016-branded condoms onto the bed next to Mikkel.

“What?” Damgaard asks. “Really?” He glances uncertainly between them.

“Oh!” says Jesper, getting Damgaard into a half-hearted headlock. “You don’t know this part? Just enjoy the show, fucker.”

“Not that we need those,” Big Toft adds. “Last tests came up clean. Unless you've been fucking around in the village. Then you have to wear a rubber.”

Mikkel tilts his head back to look up at Henrik, who strokes his finger over the cut on Mikkel’s eyebrow and down over his cheek.

“You did so well for us, superstar,” Henrik says, the undisguised admiration in his voice making Mikkel shiver. “Holger Danske’s probably awake and complaining about the neighbours with all the cheering they’re doing back home.”

Mikkel laughs and pulls him down into a kiss.

Henrik’s lips are familiar when they slot against Mikkel’s and his beard soft against Mikkel’s skin. Mikkel parts his mouth for him, tasting champagne on Henrik’s tongue. There are scattered whoops and catcalls around the room and Mikkel can’t help but laugh a little, pulling back to grin dopily up at Henrik.

“We fucking did it, old man.”

“Fucking right we did,” Niklas says, settling down on the bed next to Mikkel. He slides his hand into Mikkel’s hair, winding it around his fingers and tugging Mikkel to him. His kiss is different, sweet but insistent, his tongue tracing the seam of Mikkel’s lips until he yields again. Someone’s hands are on Mikkel now, Henrik’s maybe, unzipping his jacket and sliding it off his shoulders. They leave the medal; it’s cold through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, colder still against his skin when Henrik tugs the shirt over his head as well. Someone else’s hands are at his waistband and he surrenders to them, letting them move him how they want him.

“Fuck,” he hears Damgaard mutter, and turns his head to see that others have separated into groups. On the bed opposite, Little Toft has his hands on Lasse’s hips while Big Toft mouths at his neck. In the doorway, both Mads are wrapped around each other, oblivious to the world. As Mikkel watches, Jannick nudges Damgaard with his shoulder.

“Come on, Michael,” he says. “Its tradition. Don't you know how to celebrate on fucking Lolland? Just get your dick out if you don't want to touch. The golden boy over there loves being watched, doesn't he, Nik?”

“Of course he does,” Niklas says with a laugh. “Wouldn't you, if you were handball’s heartthrob?”

 _Fuck off with the Nik & Jay show_, Mikkel tries to say, but it turns into a moan as Niklas pinches his nipple, and then a gasp as he chases his fingers with the cold metal of the medal. The sound of the goalies’ gentle laughter seems to fade as Mikkel closes his eyes, giving himself over to the pleasure of the touch.

“You do look fucking beautiful with that thing around your neck,” Henrik murmurs, his lips tickling Mikkel’s ear. He's pressed to Mikkel’s back now, his strong arms wrapped around him and the fabric of his tracksuit rough against Mikkel’s skin. “They should want to look at you.”

Mikkel’s not sure why; his body must be a disaster zone of cuts and bruises after a tournament like this, battered and marked and scarred. Suddenly he wants their marks on him too, wants to wear them across his skin like the Dannebrog on his uniform, telling the world that he's theirs, that they’re Denmark’s. That would be something worth looking at.

“You can—harder,” he says, thinking Niklas will understand. “Let it show.”

“ _For_ _satan_ , golden boy,” he hears Jannick say, as Niklas sinks his teeth into Mikkel’s flesh, into the firm muscle just above his nipple. He cries out; it hurts but it's a good kind of hurt, like the burn of a tough workout. Henrik’s mouth is on him too, sucking a bruise at the junction of neck and shoulder, and his hands are on Mikkel’s hips, then moving lower.

“Come on, chief,” Mikkel tells him. “I want it.”

“I know,” Henrik says against his skin, and then his hands are nudging Mikkel’s thighs apart and he's leaning back to take more of Mikkel’s weight. Niklas’s blunt, calloused fingers brush against Mikkel’s ass and he can't help but arch into the touch.

“Get him wet,” Jannick suggests.

Niklas grins, sharklike, and says, “Let me at him, Møllgaard,” in a tone that sends a shiver down Mikkel’s spine.

Henrik laughs and Mikkel finds himself eased down until he’s lying with his head in Henrik’s lap and his ass at the edge of the bed. Niklas kneels between Mikkel’s legs and opens him with his tongue, hot and sloppy and maddeningly slow. Mikkel whines into Henrik’s thigh, each swipe of Niklas’s tongue making him squirm against the strong arms holding him in place, desperate for Niklas to move faster, to give him more. Just when he’s starting to think he can’t take more teasing, Henrik slides a reassuring hand into Mikkel’s hair and says, “That’s enough.” Niklas presses a final kiss to Mikkel’s thigh and then he’s gone.

“Who’s going first?” Jannick asks. His voice sounds a little rough.

“Lasse scored the most after him, maybe he should do the honours,” Niklas says.

Then someone else is between Mikkel’s legs, pushing them up and back, hard cock brushing his entrance. Mikkel opens his eyes to see Lasse’s grey ones, his smile wide and bright.

“What’s up, Hammer?” he says, fingers stroking Mikkel’s thigh.

“You played so well,” Mikkel tells him breathlessly. “Come on, come on.”

“So did you,” Lasse says, and pushes in.

The first stretch of Lasse’s cock makes Mikkel gasp, but it’s another good hurt. He digs his fingers into Lasse’s broad back, feeling the way his muscles shift with each thrust, and rolls his hips to find the best angle. Some of the other guys laugh and catcall and Mikkel can hear more sounds of jerking off but Lasse won’t be hurried. He grins down at Mikkel and fucks him deep and slow.

When Lasse’s done, coming with a groan and kissing Mikkel once on the lips before pulling out, Søndergaard takes his place.

“Fuck, look at you, Hansen,” he says. “You’re a fucking god, you asshole”

Mikkel barks a laugh that turns into a yelp as Søndergaard grabs his hips and bottoms out without warning.

He lets each of them move him where they will, trusting his team to make the play. Jannick rolls him onto his front and jerks off onto him, his spunk painting Mikkel’s back in hot spurts as he leans down to whisper filth into Mikkel’s ear. The Tofts take their turn next, each of Big Toft’s thrusts forcing Little Toft’s cock into Mikkel’s throat, their fingers digging into the bruises on his hips, his arms, his back. Morten runs his fingers through the mess leaking from Mikkel’s ass and spreads it over his thighs before sliding his cock between them.

“Please,” Mikkel hears himself say eventually. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Casper gasps and comes and pulls away, leaving Mikkel empty again, his neglected cock twitching against the rough sheets. “Please—”

“Not yet,” Niklas says. “Not yet. Fuck, Mikkel.” He runs his hand down over Mikkel’s back, where the skin feels tacky and tight with spunk.

“Nik—"

“Shh,” Niklas says. “Møllgaard, help me turn him over. I want to see his fucking All-Star face.”

“You’re an All-Star,” Mikkel mumbles, but he doesn’t fight them when they roll him onto his back. As Mikkel watches, Niklas slides three fingers into him, desire written across his face.

“Fuck, look how easy that is,” Niklas says. He twists his fingers, sending sparks shooting up Mikkel’s spine. “Bet you could take me and Møllgaard both together.”

Mikkel moans, pushing back onto Niklas’s fingers. He reaches for his own cock where it’s straining and leaking against his stomach but Henrik grabs his hand to stop him, winding the other hand back into Mikkel’s hair. Niklas kisses Mikkel’s knee, almost tenderly, as Mikkel whines in frustration. He lets his fingers slip out of Mikkel’s ass, gathering up spunk before pushing it back in.

“Handball’s heartthrob,” he says. He reaches up with his other hand to brush Mikkel’s chest. “You got jizz on your medal.” Some of the others cheer and Niklas throws back his head and laughs. “Goddammit, your _fucking gold medal_. Our fucking gold medal, Hansen, I love you, I love this team.”

He pulls his fingers out abruptly and grabs his cock, pumping it once, twice, before he’s coming against Mikkel’s hole.

“What happened to both together?” Henrik asks, laughter in his voice.

“Shut the fuck up,” Niklas says, slumping down on the bed next to Mikkel and catching his mouth in a lazy kiss.

When they break apart, Henrik is standing at the end of the bed, waiting. “How’s it going, superstar?”

“Fuck,” Mikkel moans. Henrik grins, lines up his cock, and complies.

Every nerve in Mikkel’s body feels raw to the touch, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Henrik’s hands are hot like brands where they hold Mikkel’s legs and every thrust of his cock finds Mikkel’s prostate. There are other hands on him, mouths on him, Niklas’s soft laughter in his ear. Grunts above him, the slap of hands on flesh, and then more come splatters his chest, his face, hot and wet where it runs down his skin. Someone’s lips find his and he opens for their tongue, tastes beer and spunk. Sensation pools like molten metal in his core, building and spreading like wildfire through his limbs and for a heartbeat or two he feels himself float above it all, teetering on the razor-edge of pleasure, before he plunges into freefall, giving himself over to release.

Henrik thrusts a few times more, each one a sharp spike of pleasure-pain to Mikkel’s exhausted nerves, before he comes, lips parting in a wordless cry. Mikkel reaches for him and he goes easy, panting against Mikkel’s mouth as they both try to recover their wits.

The world filters back in slowly with its sounds of celebration: grunts and the wet smack of flesh from the other bed, music and laughter somewhere in the background, the pop and dull cheers of more champagne being opened. Soon, Mikkel will have to rejoin it. For now, he's content to lie here with his team's marks on him, feeling their presence inside and out.

**Author's Note:**

> The Danish men's handball team beat France to take gold at Rio. You can see some pictures of the game and watch some inspirational video [here](https://www.olympic.org/rio-2016/handball). 
> 
> Mikkel "The Hammer" Hansen is the current face of Danish handball, twice voted IHF world player of the year. There's no need to know anything about handball to appreciate his sexy [goalscoring ability](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nODmIUFvDWw). His #narrative in the media has often been about "attention seeking" (especially when he puts his face to ad campaigns like this one for [Head and Shoulders](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MsILOXYHIdQ) with his famous long hair - also [I'll just leave this here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SSbI_Vlt_s0)). 
> 
> Niklas Landin is Denmark's #1 goalie. Goalies are weird in every sport, but in handball they also sometimes score. Please enjoy this video of him making a [ridiculous save to set up Hansen for a goal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0b6aX7DyUOI). Jannick Green was the backup goalie in Rio. 
> 
> "The Tofts" are brothers, Rene and Henrik Toft Hansen (no relation to Mikkel Hansen). If you're interested in the rest, the Rio roster can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handball_at_the_2016_Summer_Olympics_%E2%80%93_Men%27s_team_rosters#Denmark).
> 
> PSG is Paris Saint-Germain, the club where Mikkel Hansen and Team DK teammate Henrik Møllgaard currently play. This made the (incredibly unexpected underdog) victory over France extra poignant since they were facing a bunch of their regular teammates. TiTi is Thierry Omeyer, veteran France/PSG goalie. 
> 
> Guðmundur Guðmundsson is a retired Icelandic handballer who coached Team DK up until the 2017 Worlds fiasco of which we will not speak. After Rio, the media referred to him punnily as 'Guldmundur' (where 'guld' is the Danish word for gold). 
> 
> Holger Danske is Denmark's version of the king in the mountain waiting to lead the nation in a time of need. He sleeps under Kronbrog Castle in Helsingør, Mikkel Hansen's hometown. Nik & Jay are a Danish hip-hop duo. The locker room victory chant is a [common one to Danish sports](https://streamable.com/993j7).


End file.
